Red Thread and Black Charm
by Whimstories
Summary: Marinette could always see the red strings connecting soulmates, but she's fairly sure hers is all wrong.


A/N: Had this concept forever, wrote this drabble, and here we are!

EDIT: To emphasize, this is a drabble lol I don't have plans to continue unless there's a meteorite of demand for it. COSMIC INTERFERENCE MUST DEMAND IT lol This was a funsies practice piece.

I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

* * *

"Holy shit," Marinette gasped. She examined her hand like she never saw it before and, in a way, she hadn't.

To the eyes of a normal observer, her hand was nothing beyond the ordinary. She had all five of her fingers, they were milky white, and the nails weren't even painted. The only interesting thing was the new article wrapped around her finger, so long that it had weight and presence.

The thin red string billowed on her pinky finger for all her life. However, it use to be short. Cut and attached to nothing, a mere two inches at best. She was part of a special minority, "the fun-sized strings" she called them, and honestly their status could mean many things; things she accepted early in her life as a peaceful future not tied or destined to another person like a caged animal.

That is, until this very moment.

"Holy. SHIT." Marinette extended her fingers in a wide splay and the string billowed beyond its usual two inch length to yards of red into the sky. A stark contrast to the blended smear of midnight and sapphire above her.

Cascades of other red strings flew around Paris, overlapping and tangling each other below her, with no reflection of street lights to add to their eerie otherworldly existence. Ever since she was a child, she tripped over their precious strands, ate them in her cereal, and tangled them in her pigtails. For most of her life she saw them and obsessed over them, studying their properties and meanings. It didn't take long to figure out she was the only one with this peculiar skill of sight, and also to figure out the small tells with these strings.

All she could comprehend about her current string was how heavy it felt. It tugged on her, in a way she never experienced before because it didn't just tug on her fingers, it tangled itself into her breathe, her muscle fibers, and very thoughts. And it led to someone.

Marinette whipped her head in large circles to find the person. They had to be nearby, the string only spontaneously changed right before the event which altered the circumstances. Her circumstances meaning they never met before.

She held her breath and remained frozen in her balcony chair, her other hand clutching her ankle, practically fusing her bones into a large lump. The silence was beginning to ring in her ears, an eternal frequency of suspense only known to those who wait for the inevitable.

Then her string stretched in the middle of the night, before her very eyes, towards a black figure hopping the skylines of Paris. Entranced, she lifted out of her seat to lean her hips on the railing until she could clearly see the black figure of the night.

Only one person in all of Paris moved across the skylines in such a fashion, and the dread in her heart, the one that never wanted to have a connected string, increased ten fold.

Chat Noir, notorious savior of Paris, was her soulmate. And she hated the idea already.

She woke up the next morning with dark grey bags under her eyes.

What is a girl to do with the knowledge that her lifelong partner is a superhero? Does she find a ledge somewhere, jump, hope he appears, then spout some pickup line like 'Didn't think I'd catch you here'? How are they to meet? Does she suddenly have privilege to his secret identity?

Honestly, she never realized until last night the horrid, dreadful nature of her gift. She was the only one who knew they were soulmates, that ultimately in some unknown sequence of events they would grow closer together. How horrible was that to know? To wait on an emotion like an oncoming train wreck, to have no feelings for another and, due to divine intervention, fall in love; who were they to make the call?

She really wished hers was still cut.


End file.
